


De Ja Angel

by JKbetti



Category: Judes/Mykael, Judes/Xionn
Genre: Anima - Freeform, English, F/M, France - Freeform, French, Irish, M/M, NaNoWriMo, Norwegian, angel - Freeform, demon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 01:44:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4001194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JKbetti/pseuds/JKbetti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>heyo all So this has a ton on French in it- so if you do not understand some parts that is the reason... It also has Irish and Norwegian in it as well but enjoy~!</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> heyo all So this has a ton on French in it- so if you do not understand some parts that is the reason... It also has Irish and Norwegian in it as well but enjoy~!

Dé Ja Angel

(Prologue) 

Many years ago when the world was new, there was almost perfect harmony between life and death, titans and gods, demons and the lea humans, and magic and logic. The key stones of this, seemingly perfect correlation were the souls of the arch Angel, Henah, and the Grotesquerie, Querøn. Each had their own perspectives on the day and night of the living and dead, Henah was the day and Querøn was the night.  
Both were crucial until the day they realized each other’s existence, then chaos broke: lives were stolen, magic begun to create friction with the world at large, above all, the possession of the human bodies- dead or alive- sparked. The Unholy Civil World erupted...  
Henah and Querøn had to figure out ways to manage their own worlds and still remain oblivious to each other, even though they knew to seek each other’s help.  
Querøn plunged into the drunken stage of his monarchy, letting his heirs shed their demands onto the nightshaded realm of Helheim. One of which had somehow managed to conceive a single rose that had the power to bring forth the darkness of Helheim to the upper worlds of Vahalla and Earth.  
Henah, realizing the power of the rose, sent out Animas to seize and obliterate this demonic portal-like ruin. None were successful, so in the frustration that Henah discovered in failure of the Animas she banished every single one of them from Vahalla. Exasperated, she sought out the rose herself. Henah would destroy this demonic figment with the will she had preserved for this precise trauma....  
The air in France as always been a peculiar one to foreigners, and the tourists and natives have never quite gotten to acquainted with each other. So is true of those who come from the world Below and Above the surface of this great world we humans call home. They do not understand the point of all of this...


	2. Judes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okie so each chapter has a different POV so yeah :D

(Chapter 1: Judès)

No one will ever, really, understand that you could be from some place and thrive from the alternative…

My visions of the prier life have been blurred since I have been thriving in the world above Helheim’s lethal gates for quite some time now. However, I often feel that awful, nagging, desperate voice screaming my name, demanding and urging me to come home. Even though I have accepted Reims, France as my home base, I would never receive it as my homeland. Hellion is and always will be close to my darkened heart; even though it will never accept me in return I love it to death.  
“” Mykæl hollered as we toppled over onto the dampened grass of the parking lot. “"   
It amused me that Mykæl was so flustered about the bike we had ‘borrowed’ from a boutique a few rues down from where we consistently held camp.   
The parking lot of the abandoned body shop had been ours since the power had been shot and the owners had given up hope for their side business.  
Not only did Mykæl and I receive the body shop, but the lounge areas connected to it. It was a good venue for a demon and anima to co-inhabit, I got the side lounge and Mykæl got the perch above the garage.   
“ _” I chuckled trying to hint that I wasn’t the one who wanted this collection of scrap metal to begin with, “”  
“” Mykæl gave me a look of pure exasperation, which made me laugh even more. “”  
“ _”  
Trying to catch my breath I began to saunter over to the doorway of what we now called home…  
“” Even though I was perfectly aware at the eve of the night, “ _”___  
Mykæl swiveled around in his bar stool I had gotten us last Christmas and cocked his head inquisitively, “j’ècoute... mais je ne sais pas quelle heures il a… c’est domage.”   
I had always admired the way that Mykæl dressed, with his Nordic vest and huge scarf he used as a belt to his baggy cut offs. The thing that intrigued me the most was the feather in his long jet black hair that somehow wound up turning into a long, woven braid that trailed and swung back and forth when he danced across the floorboards.  
“Quoi de neuf?” Obviously interested in our local travel schemes, Mykæl’s golden eyes danced in their sockets. Whenever he was interested in a topic on the table he would put one of his long legs across the other and twiddle with the multicolored feather tied onto a tuff of his thick hair.   
“Are we actually going to go outside this time?” He gave a few sarcastic chuckles and spun around on the painted bar stool. “Someplace where we can actually borrow some real crap this time?”   
More pitiful laughter from the bird Anima.  
Finally, realizing that I was actually being serious this time, “but seriously; are we actually going to make a creator this time? You know how much I’ve wanted to get out a spread my wings again- not that I don’t love Reims and all- however going someplace outside of here would be ecstatic.”   
“Oui, Je vais proposer ce nous voyagons a Paris…”  
“Ah, oui, Paris... Paris. La ville de l’amour” Mykæl looked like he tasted the words, he seemed to like the plan of taking Paris. 

_____It was around noon, the next morning when we decided it was time to strike out with a bang, making headlines across the universe shiver in terror when the time came to revive our true nature._  
The world needed comical and unusual outbreaks, except Mykæl and I would only be taking on Paris. Flooding and engulfing that city would be my greatest delight. The two of us had been without a job as long as I can remember; come to think of it, people were afraid to hire us for some reason or another. That aside, I had always dreamed of taking over the world by force- well in this case an Anima and a Demon.   
When it came time to test the drop, Mykæl and I excelled with triumph. “When do you think we will hit someone?” Mykæl inquired sarcastically,  
“I donno maybe when someone gets in our way or when they get curious as to why we are diving off this arch!” Judès smirked and grabbed at the side of the ancient arch, hoping that it could still be manipulated.   
It had been forever since I had been back to Paris; a ton of stuff had changed. For example, there were a lot more cars than bicycles. Fewer people were out with large groups and, above all, there were not as many pubs around this part of France.   
Mykæl shivered when I draped my, now talon, hand around the small of his back.   
“Hvorfor...?” I heard him mutter in Norse when he realized it was just me and not another Anima like before.   
Mykæl had been attacked by a rouge Anima a few months prior to our Criminal anniversary. Since Mykæl is of royal descent, he gets picked on a lot when he is around the other Animas, for some reason it is really obvious when he has his great hawk wings spread.   
He never told me why he fled his stammen in Norway; I have narrowed it down to a couple of variables- so I feel accomplished. When Mykæl was younger, before I met him of course, his family would perform this angelic ritual to give them strength for a voyage. I never witnessed this, unfortunately, and he does not like to revisit his past. I understood completely, I have some much regret and anger about mine as well...  
“Let’s head up where we can scope out probable schemes, OK?” hanging to the necklace that acted like a reign for me. I did not really care for Mykæl’s flying techniques but if it was a mode of transportation, it would suffice.   
When we landed on top of the Champs Aliser, Mykæl shook out his feathered arms with great might and let them dissolve back into their human limbs again. Mykæl seemed to do this effortlessly; however I could tell it pained Mykæl to see the source of power and grace leave him. I never mentioned anything since I had to do the same process, even though mine was of smaller physical notice. The ram-like horns and sinister talons disintegrated into their shadowy purgatory until I desired them once more.   
“I cannot believe we are actually in Paris” Mykæl was still in awe of the city. “Why don’t we just stay here?”   
“’Cause it would not be special to come and visit” I cut in bluntly, trying to snap him out of his dream.   
“Sorry... It is just that I have never been here before and it shocks me that you are not thrilled like I am, Judès. It is almost like you did not actually want to come here, did you only do this for-“  
“Mykæl, I do not want to talk about this right now. Maybe later, over a glass of Mead- but not now, alright?” I tried desperately not to make eye contact with him; those golden eyes reminded me of my past- the past I wished I had forgotten... 


	3. Xionn

(Chapter 2: Xionn)

When life hands you a lemon, make them take it back... even if it means you are kicked out of your home in the process...

Sitting in a French pub did not really sit well with me. My back was destroying the alcohol I was trying to consume, the pain was too much.   
They are all smoking and kissing up to the waitresses or their girls, whoever is closer to their tables. Me, I prefer the bar stools and sticky counter tops from all the men fighting and people laughing. Seeing that I was an Irish man, this was only natural and the only way to drink.   
Whenever I moved my body would seem to be jolted by excruciating pain from where my wings were severed off by the Gates Angel. Being kicked from Valhalla was bad, but being sent to a country on the earth below where you could not understand a single thing being flung at you was humiliating. Whenever I would find someone who knew English (or Irish) they would not have a clue at what I was inquiring about, so frustrating.   
Being snapped out of my mental bickering, I realized that someone was tugging at my shawl.   
“Well, well, well look who managed to wind up down here” A woman’s voice hissed into my ear, “someone told me you were a bad little boy last night... Is that true Xionn?”   
“Cacamas... what are you doing here?” I did not even dare to turn around; I could not believe my luck “I thought I was finished with you.”  
“Well you thought wrong, knowing Henah I thought you would fall someplace a little less alcoholic,” I could see Rïle- Mae’s smirk from the reflection of my glass. “When you got kicked out of Valhalla, I thought you would have broken your back when you hit down here” maniacal laughter.  
“So tell me brother, why should I be surprised to see you in this particular pub at this... particular time?” Rïle- Mae took a place next to me at the bar, “or was this simply a coincidence?” She looked as though she would kill to find this information out.   
“I knew that you were connected to this part of Paris, so I followed your stench down to this Hellhole. I wanted to find you so I could inquire on a job so I could get off this bloody earth you claim to have power over,” Honestly that was a reason why, but not the one she apparently wanted. So I tried again, “I was not planning on running into you until after I got a good long drink of something, but all they have here is wine and mead.”  
“Why do you say that?” I had successfully gotten her attention.  
“So I would not be able to remember what I told and asked you,” I laughed for a split second then realized that laughing hurts my back, so I crumpled forward in pain.  
“So, they still sever the wings of those who disobey...” Rile-Mae sounded as though I were a drunken clown, “now you know what pain actually feels like.”  
When I was younger, I saw Rile-Mae as a potential friend- like sibling. Yes she was a few years older than but that did not mean anything to me at the time. More recently I have foreseen her to be a potential destroyer of the all things known to mankind; however that might just be sibling rivalry.  
I sat back up after a few minutes of awkward no conversational activities between her and me, “why is it that you can travel to and fro and I cannot? Do you have some sort of special privileges down in Helheim or something?” To be quite honest I never understood how and why Rile-Mae got to do this but I could not.   
“Xionn, when will you ever learn: some things are better left unresolved? I am different: I left Valhalla- you were kicked out.” She got up from the chair and left the main area.   
Finally alone I felt like I could breathe again now that Rile-Mae was out of earshot.  
When I finally figured it was time to get some rest, I found myself wishing that I had been able to track down my sister once more. I was not going to be sleeping on the streets of Paris; that was too low for me to get in one day.   
As the night progressed I discovered a little shack, where two men were sitting on top of the roof. Then one of them sprouted wings, the other grew ram- like horns, I did not think that I would actually see something like that on this earth. Fortunately I was hidden behind a tree so these strange beings would not be able to detect me.   
“Why is an angel down here with a half-breed? Maybe they speak English, wait if that really was an angel it would also have arms and wings. Also why would they be down here?”   
Questions started to flood my mind, so much that when I looked back at where I had seen the odd duo they were nowhere to be found. “Blast, if only I could fly...”  
Since the two were gone I decided it would be alright to go in and take a little siesta, before wandering around again. The shack was quite small for having two men dwelling in it, but then again they were just on the roof.   
Getting closer to the doorway I noticed that there was no actual door, just an afghan quilt that had one or two feathers in it I assumed from the Angel. I smirked and pulled one of them out and inspected the long feathers and patterned quilt. It was quite clear that these were two people who had not lived here for very long, if even for a full week.   
So I walked in, holding my breath subconsciously for some reason. It was dark and smelled of alcohol, Typical Frenches, laughing a little I came across two mats. One had a blanket similar to the one in the doorframe; the other looked ancient, almost to the point where I wondered why would someone even want to keep this tattered old piece of cloth? However when I sat down on the quilted one, a strange sensation came over me; almost like I did not want to sleep on the quilt but with the tattered old one. So I laid down on the old one on my back, I felt no pain, none at all to be honest. However I did not feel anything. I began to dream.   
Did I get this numb just to survive, to dive in the rain just to be a part of this world? Can someone that I could reach to make me unbroken... to make me whole again. Was there a time when I was feeling that side for shame of hope or fear, sometimes I wonder if this was when I was dreaming. I long to be unbroken.

* * * *

I awoke with a jolt and remembered that I was not in my own blissful home but in an old shack that did not even belong to me. It was quite early in the morning hours, frantic, I rushed out of the tattered blanket and was about to whisk myself out the door when I ran into somebody.   
I panicked and prayed that it was not the Angel and Ram. I closed my eyes and crumpled to the ground, screaming in pain and fear. “Please do not kill me! I was only here to rest my eyes not to harm! I swear- I mean you no harm! Please do not eat me!”   
As I carried on with my mercy plea, I felt warmth so I lifted my head to peer out to see who or what I had bumped into. All I could see were two lavender eyes staring into my own,   
“Maintenant, pourquoi diable voudrais-je vous manger?” The eyes asked me with a touch of humor, “Je préfère mes dîners cuits pas cru!”  
He took my shaking hands, “Que faites-vous ici?”  
He had pale green hair that was spiked on top but had a long rat tail, underneath those lavender eyes were a cluster of freckles. He was by far the most beautiful person I have ever seen, “Êtes-vous l'Ange?” I breathed as I got up from the floor.   
I wanted to touch his face, but that I was afraid it might offend him.   
“Quoi?” He looked taken a back, puzzled he cocked an eye brow and I noticed that he had pointed ears, both were pierced multiple times.   
“Are you the Angel I saw on the roof earlier today? I saw you and a ram on the roof of this shack earlier today and I am wondering if you were the Angel I saw. I am an Angel, myself, but I had my wings sawed off not a day ago... Every time I move I feel pain, but when I came in and took a nap on your quilt I did not feel a single pain in my entire body.” I began to tear up and wilt down, but to my surprise the man caught me and draped his arms around my shoulders.   
“But why are you here?” He whispered into my ear, “I am not the Angel, nor is the man you saw with me,” he was taller than me by a few centimeters and significantly more muscular.   
“You should not be here; Paris is anything but a place for Angels like yourself,” I could not hear his heart pounding; I could not hear anything but his smooth voice. “Paris is a city of dark and horrible things,” he paused, leaned down and drew my face up to look at his, “like myself.”  
Those lavender eyes of his looked surreal and his fingers felt like shark skin against my chin. “You are not horrible, you gave me-” then I figured it out: he was a demon, he had slit pupils like a snakes and when he talked you could make out the fangs. The pierced ears were a sign of monarch type ranking down in Helheim, my sister had them as well but less than his collection.  
I let out a little gasp and the demon lowered his eyes, “you cannot be here, I do not want blood on my hands anymore. Je ne veux pas te faire de mal.”   
He tightened his grip on my shoulders then let go, seemingly out of despair. This surprised me, I was lead to believe that Demons of any form cannot feel or execute emotions towards anyone or thing. Even if they had a bond between a ‘human masters’ of some sort they could not actually show, feel, or embrace emotions.   
I must have looked surprised when he said this because he shook his head and his long rat tail swung back and forth. “Vous ne comprenez pas, vous êtes de Valhalla...”   
“What is your name?” I wanted to change the subject to make the demon’s eyes light up again like before.   
“hmm... Judès Alexandre... et vous?” One of his pointed ears twitched like he was clearing his mind, “Comment vous appelez- vous?”  
“Xionn Rydol. Who was the person with you?” I had forgotten about the other guy with Judès for a while and if he was here I would like to know his name for later.  
“Well, why don’t you ask him yourself, he is on the roof right now,” Judès nodded at the quilted doorframe. “Actually, do not do that. He is quite introverted up to the point where he is kind of” Judès paused like he was testing his words, “socially awkward”.  
Just then I heard a clang on the roof, then a thud on the ground, finally the quilted doorframe exposed a rather handsome looking man.  
Horrified at the sight of Judès and myself began to talk in a strange language, violently directing the words at Judès. It sounded like an ancient Nordic dialect, which reminded me of what the Angels in Valhalla spoke in- just stranger…


	4. Mykael

(Chapter 3: Mykæl)

I lived in a nightmare, I would think of it as good and said no gone with a feeling the made us so cold while getting the madness it's crawling in us solitary psycho a sickening badness…

It had never dawned on me that when I was away doing my own picking that Judès would have company over, I mean, I used to until I we moved down into Reins.   
“Hva er den tingen å gjøre her inne?”   
It took Judès a few seconds to figure out what I had said for some reason.   
Was he really that slow at understanding me now? Why was this creature here? Why did he not tell me in advance?   
“Mykæl, alt est gut… Ce n’est pas mal, il s’appelle Xionn.” Judès touched the thing next to him; I cringed when it blushed at his touch.   
I did not need reasons or lies why it was here in this crumby run down shack. Why wouldn’t Judès just kill it like he usually did? I did not care; I would either kill it myself or scare it out of this city.   
I knew exactly what it was, an Angel.  
I never thought of myself as a darkened creature but living with a demon can spark a cold heart over anything you disapprove of or simply hated. 

Anima’s used to be the main source of power and brutality of Valhalla until Henah banished every single one of us. My parents told me stories of constant injustice within the reign of the all powerful Goddess; she sent them out like Chess Pieces to do as she so pleased. Constantly wanting this and that, the Animas finally figured it was their time to revolt against the monarchy of holy power, against Henah and the Angels...

When I was young, my far would take me into the market place and sing for money. My mor had left our home when I was an infant, so I had no connection to her.   
My far was the Clan head, and I was his little prince, he taught me everything I needed to take over when it was my time. This saddened me a bit, the thought of far gone was terrifying: I would actually be alone.   
Whenever my far was having a bad day I would show up at the right time and playing my Cello for him. After I had played a few measures he would always join in, with the melodic voice he could conceive. When he was feeling better he would always sweep me up off my feet and take me to the roof of the Great Hall.   
“This is why I sing, and this is why you play... so we can thrive until the end,” Far would pluck a feather from his sail like wings, and instruct me to do the same.   
“We give, to receive Mykæl, when the time comes you will understand,” and we would release the two painted feathers into the night sky.  
“Far, when I grow stronger, you will be my guide. You will still be strong and will remain honored by the stammen,” I looked at my wings and then at his. We had the same marks and color pallets, of black and white; however he had red tips on each wing.   
“My sønn: you have great ambitions, you will be boundless.” I will never forget those words, since it was his last he spoke to me.


	5. Judes

(Chapter 4: Judès)

Shallow Tears may fall but the Shadowed faces will be raised...

The life left in me whittled away when I realized the grave mistake that I had conceived. Animas knew Angels better than any of us from Helheim, they could pin point one like we could with Necroreapers in a sea of unholy beings.   
Mykæl had accepted the fact that I was a Demon and enjoyed that I hated my counterparts as much as he did. What troubled me, the most, was that Xionn could not tell the difference between Anima and Angel, they are two totally different creatures, not to mention Xionn did not seem to mind myself or Mykæl’s presence.  
“Mykæl, please notice him! Look, he just wanted a place to get some rest! I did not invite him, I would not even dream of having this happen,” it was so hard for me to find the words to make this sound like it was not my fault.  
“Mykæl, he is different than the others!”   
I spun Xionn around and tore his shirt down the middle, hoping to Querøn that he did not actually have wings; since earth bound had them either bound to their backs or had tattoos of Angelic wings on their shoulder blades.  
To both Mykæl and my horrors we saw what was left: two exposed open wounds that could not have been dealt a few days prior.  
Xionn hissed in, what we assumed was pain.   
Mykæl, in shock, walked towards the Angel he had just condemned, "Henah at-elle fait cela?"  
I turned my head away; I had honestly not expected all that opened tissue and clumps of blood coming from someone I had just met. I began to walk towards the doorway to go find someone or thing to kill for Xionn’s wounds.  
“Judès, gjorde hun gjøre dette mot ham?”   
Why don’t you ask him yourself? Those six words flooded my skull. If I had never said them the first time, I would not have seen this.   
“Jeg vet ikke,” the phrase came out like a choked whisper. “Jeg vet ikke...”  
Xionn was a Fallen Angel, which meant that if he wanted to go back up he had to kill a source of evil or sacrifice someone he loved in his prior life.   
He could go back. I could not go back even if I wanted to. Once you are out you stay out, that is the simple rule of Helheim. I felt cold all over, I knew the rules.   
I leaned against the doorframe. Why did I have to deal with this? I could feel both of Xionn’s beautiful unmatched eyes boring into my back, god why did he have to be an Angel? Why did I have to be a Demon?   
I bit my lip to refrain from screaming bloody murder.   
“Henah did not do this, the Gates Guard did,” Xionn said in an outburst, “They told me I did not belong there anyway... that I was not meant to be in Valhalla.  
“They bound me and, lost in myself, I could not feel control. I stumbled and fell believing what they had said was true. That is why I lost my wings, they dropped me over the edge of Valhalla,” his voice was trembling and as the story progressed I grew more and more tense.  
"Personne ne les a arrêtés," Xionn and I whispered in unison.   
This caught all three of us off guard: Mykæl knew my version of Xionn’s story: I had told him the day we had met in Reins many years ago. I turned around to face Xionn’s shocked expression and Mykæl’s lowered head.   
“Look we all hate the same concept; we just have different translations of the same thing. I recommend you keep our meeting here quiet, the people of this city do not need to know everything that goes on.” I walked towards the mats where Xionn was standing, “Mykæl and I will be leaving Paris in a few days... If it is alright with him you can stay here in this shack until we leave, however you cannot accompany us what so ever.”  
Mykæl sighed and got up from the floor, “Pourquoi ne pouvons-nous le trouver juste un endroit de son propre chef?”   
“Parce qu'il ne sait pas Paris comme nous le faisons,” I shot back at him, not exactly intending it to sound moody.  
Mykæl laughed a bit and headed out the doorway, "Vel dere to har det gøy bonding jeg kommer til å få frokost."

“What language was he speaking in? It sounds familiar, but different,” Xionn looked at the where Mykæl had been sitting.   
I took one look at Xionn and sank down into the couch that Mykæl had begged to bring along with us, “Norse, why?” Now with just Xionn and me in the room it had gotten quite warm, so I slipped off my sandals and undid my shirt buttons.   
“Just curious,” Xionn replied simply and dragged his fingers through his long purple hair, “so what are an Anima and a Demon doing together? Are you two old friends or relatives or something?” I noted that he was not from here: one since he did not really speak French and two he had a Celtic accent, not to mention extremely pale.  
“He and I go way back,” I did not want to talk about Mykæl and mine’s connection right now, what I wanted was to patch up Xionn’s wounds. “He is like a brother to me and vice versa... Now let me fix up your back.”  
I got a bowl of water and a towel from my bag, and told Xionn to lay on the mat that he did not feel pain on- which was mine, personally making a mental check list to clean this all after I play doctor.  
“Judès, why do you act so kind, if you are a Demon? I know I sound like I am repeating myself, and asking a lot of questions... but I am intrigued in you,” Xionn had removed what was left of his shirt and threw it aside.   
I had the worst time trying to demolish my hungry eyes from scanning his pale figure, “because... because I... It is complicated and it is a pain for me to explain to others, I am sorry but I cannot answer.”   
When Xionn was on his stomach on the mat, I noticed definite markings of Angelic Power on what was left of his collar bone and shoulders blades. They were kind of like the tattoo like markings across my left arm, I had forgotten about them and people would look at me like I was a male hooker.   
“This might sting but try to hold as still as possible,” I knelt down and started wetting the towel, “just warning you in advance.”  
“It is fine, I cannot really feel heat just pressure on the wounds,” Xionn’s wingless back would have looked like silk if it did not have the two gapping gashes still fresh in some places. “Judès all I ask is that you just clean it that is all.”   
As I set the towel on Xionn’s shoulders I realized that his long hair had gotten stuck in the forming scabs, which meant I would have to wash his hair as well.  
I tried to shake that thought out of my head, but just the thought was making me appear flustered. We would have to wait until Mykæl, Xionn, and I were back in Reins, where we actually had a shower head to clean up with.  
“Xionn, may I ask you a question before the pain of truth kicks in?”   
“Of course, wait pain of truth... what is that supposed to mean?” Xionn sat up on his knees, somehow the towel stayed on his shoulders, “what I cannot understand is how you are incapable of feeling emotions- that just makes no sense to me.”  
“People like me can feel emotions,” I hesitated to pick my words effectively, “We just cannot be touched by them.” I looked down at my hands, “like I said earlier, it is complicated.”  
“So you cannot feel physical emotions?” Xionn took my left hand, “so you cannot feel this?”   
I averted his eyes to prevent myself from blushing, “look at me Judès.” I flinched when he placed my hand over his beating heart, “can you feel this?”   
“Xionn, that is not what I me-” he took own pale hand and placed it over where he thought mine would be.  
I took this opportunity to look him straight on, “I cannot be touched by emotions meaning I have no heart to hold them in... That does not mean I cannot feel them, not at all. I just... I just...” I could feel Xionn’s heart race and hung my head, “You do not understand.”   
“Just because I may not understand does not mean I do not care,” Xionn cupped my face with his hands to reassure that I would accept that single fact.   
Xionn had a face that could take your breath away, fact was that it did. I could not comprehend that someone with this face and the eyes on differentiation had been beaten so much that he had been broken and kicked out of Valhalla.   
Xionn was broken, you could see it in his mix matched eyes, and although he was not destroyed… he was broken nonetheless.  
Being broken is a physical thing that people with touch had to constantly deal with. Being destroyed was physical and physiological punishment, anyone would come across during their life span. The one that most people, if not all of them, forget to realize was the punishment of being shattered; this is only mentally, emotionally, and/or physiological. It takes quite some time to completely accomplish this undertaking, typically this leads to someone of something’s death or lose of earthly sanity.  
“Il est pas mon travail de juge,” I murmured hesitantly, before my own hands began to trace Xionn’s jaw line “pardonne- moi.”   
I brought the top of his head to my lips and let my true nature illuminate, “s’il te plaÎt, pardonne- moi.”


	6. Xionn

(Chapter 5: Xionn)

You cannot dream without fear…

He kissed me, a Demon kissed me. Maybe Judès is not one after all? But then why would he say such a thing? I closed my eyes and took a deep breath trying to figure out a reasonable explanation for this kiss.   
Maybe this was considered an honorable thing, since they are depicted as heartless… heartless beings. Lost in my thoughts I tried recreating the few seconds before, Judès lips were smooth but they felt cold and frustrated about something.   
When I opened my eyes after a failed digestion of the memories, I lost all sense of control. Judès had black, ram-like horns, his eye whites were now completely shadowed- making his lavender eyes appear brighter and his ears had blackened tips, like they were dipped in an ink well. The tattoos on Judès left arm seemed to be glowing.  
“I thought Demons have wings?” I pointed out as I realized Judès had no demonic wings or had the right type of horns.  
“Devils have wings, we have insignias on our bodies…” he stood up and took my hand, “I wanted to show you before you got too acquainted with Mykæl and me.”   
Judès’ hands and feet were taloned and darkened from the shadows. I shifted my hand to palm his and I realized that his fingers had extended a few centimeters, making my own seem minuscule in comparison.   
He was beautiful but anyone could tell he was a Demon, “I never wanted to show anyone purposefully this side of me but I told you that I am dark and horrible.” Judès paused and lifted my chin, “please forgive me Xionn.”  
Judès’ hands and feet were taloned and darkened from the shadows. I shifted my hand to palm his and I realized that his fingers had extended a few centimeters, making my own seem minuscule in comparison.   
He was beautiful but anyone could tell he was a Demon, “I never wanted to show anyone purposefully this side of me but I told you that I am dark and horrible.” Judès paused and lifted my chin, “please forgive me Xionn.”  
I could not take it anymore; I pressed myself against Judès’ body. It did not matter whether he was a god or devil, I had fallen in love with him, and maybe fate does play apart in the realm of the love.   
To my utter surprise, Judès had begun to weep.   
“What is wrong? Did I hurt you?” I panicked and made some space between myself and the Demon,  
“No, you did not hurt me,” looking at the tears I noticed that they were foggy, almost shadowed. “No one has ever accepted me like this, Mykæl is afraid of this form so I only show him what he wants to see: the horns and talons.  
“You are an Angel; I am supposed to hate you and you, me. I cannot imagine what you are feeling, so may I ask: why me?”  
I took Judès’ face in both my trembling hands, “I would never hate such a beautiful creature like you, Judès. I fell remember? They do not want me anymore, and I did not care about them anyway.”   
Wiping away some of his tears, I noticed that they were weaving themselves into my own fingers. I stepped out of consciousness, letting a stream of scenes that I had never seen before, solidify behind my eyes. 

* * * * * *

“He is so beautiful; you must be so proud Querøn!” A man’s voice hissed in the background, “another grand heir to the throne of Helheim!”   
“What shall we call him?” A woman’s voice broke through the darkness.  
“Since he is our first born we should think of a fertile name, so that it rolls of our tongues and pleases those whom he encounters,” another woman’s voice seemed to echo- this one sounding younger. “What do you suggest Querøn?”  
“Il s’appelle Judès,” a cold hand rested on my forehead, “reveille mon premier nè… bienvenu mon fils.”  
My eyes burst open and I saw a crowd of unusual figures, all of them masked in shadows.   
Suddenly I was dropped from where I was being held up, someone was screaming. I hit the cobblestone floor with a thud, but I did not weep like a normal baby would.   
“What is that thing?” The first woman hollered in disbelief, I got up and looked around. Everyone was scattering from me for some reason, “Get that away from me!   
“Querøn: this must be a mistake: it cannot possibly be your own son!”   
The man who I presumed was Querøn, turned away from my infant self, almost as if he was embarrassed. “He is my son you shall honor and love him like I would! He is just different than the rest of you- do not judge the infant… it is not his fault he is tainted!”  
“What could have happened to devise such a horrific outcome?” One of the weeping women shuddered as the infant me began looking at its hands, “it must have been Henah! She hates us all down Below; surely this was one of her plots to ruin us all,”   
“You will not speak about Henah like that! She is not a monster who aims to kill; she only means to cripple,” I was picked up by Querøn and taken out of the room.  
Once we had left the room, Querøn began to sing to me. Trying to soothe me since I had began to cry softly.   
“Je peux être celui qui vous mènera à travers la course impie.   
Je vous donne Je suis, prendre le pécheur à faire avancer le désir, monter sur les larmes, rouler sur les boulevards vides qui vous mène à la crainte.   
Contre le trottoir de la chère craintes que vous pourriez ressentir quand vous tombez sur la chaussée. Je vais vous conduire contre vos démons creuses qui vous arrachaient votre place.   
Ne faites confiance à personne d'autre, mais moi, je vais demander votre justice à ceux qui vous a brisé la foi.  
Il y aura l'enfer dans Valhalla; les ombres sont tirer des balles à détruire la douleur que nous ressentons.   
Ne faites confiance à personne d'autre". 

As I fell back I could only hear the voice of Querøn fade away, and the blankets around me get colder. Wrapping themselves around me, they could not possibly be blankets.   
The cold hands somehow wrapped themselves around my shoulders, “I am sorry you had to see that,” Judès’ voice was shaking.   
“What was that?” I was weaving in and out of consciousness, “how long was I out?”  
“For an hour or so,” Mykæl was sitting on the side of the couch. “Judès called for me so if something hap-” he was promptly shoved off the arm of the couch by Judès.   
Judès was back to his less demonic form, “in case you did not wake up. Demon tears are extremely dangerous: they sow themselves into their surroundings and reveal flashes of time…”  
Mykæl smirked and got up from the toppled couch, "Med andre ord-vent: du gråt?"  
“C’etait rien!” Judès whisked his head away from where he was glaring at the bird Anima.   
Was this some kind of game to them? It is almost like they do not want me to figure out something, but what? I looked at my hands like when I was induced in the Judès’ tears, one had black stitch marks on it the other had white curls around my fingers.   
“Explain these to me.”   
The two of them looked at one another, then back at me, then back at each other. Judès was the one to finally speak, “I do not know about the white ones- but the black are the tears that landed on your skin.”   
His face was blushed scarlet. Mykæl broke out into laughter, promptly receiving the finger from Judès, making Mykæl laugh even harder.  
“You have no idea how lucky you are not to have any red marks! Judès has been known to play with his food before he eats it, it is a French thing.” Mykæl took Judès’ rat tail in one hand and spun it around his own fingers.   
“On the other hand, he could just be turning his dust mode off,” Judès’ was then flung on top of me.  
“So what exactly, got you kicked out of Valhalla anyway?” Mykæl changing the subject completely, “obviously it was something horrible- but not lethal! If that happened I am sure they would have just slaughtered you on the spot!”   
Judès, making sure I was still alive, looked at me with most intrigued eyes.  
“If you do not want to tell us you do not have to,” taking my hands in his, he continued, “I mean I still have questions for Birdbrain over there.”   
He laughed.   
The Demon laughed, it was dark and had a strong ring of sarcasm to it. However, it was soothing, strangely soothing to my ears.  
I pondered whether I should tell them or not. Then again I did not really know why I was kicked out, was it something I did? Did I say something to offend them that badly?   
“Come on Judès, let us go out and give the Angel some space,” Mykæl nodded towards the doorway, “he has had enough birdbrains and stitches for one day.   
“Besides,” he spread out his arms and hawk-like wings flashed, along with a feathery tail to accompany it, “We have stuff to do today anyway.”   
The heathers in his hair did not match the ones he, himself, had. Maybe that was one of Mykæl’s unanswered questions.   
Judès got up from the mat, “Stay here: it will be safer in here than outside where the world can get you. Besides Paris is a dark city remember?”   
That smile.   
No it was not a smile; it was more of a smirk.   
Yes, a smirk.  
A question sprung off my lips accidentally: “Judès, what did Querøn sing to you… that night?”   
Judès stopped dead in his tracks, hesitated, then finally turned around.   
“I can be the one who will lead you through the godless run.   
I give you all I am, take the sinner down to feed desire, ride on tears, ride on empty boulevards that leads you to fears.   
Against the pavement of the dear fears you may feel when you fall down onto pavement. I will lead you against your hollow demons who tore you from your place.   
Trust no one else, but me, I will demand your justice to those whom shattered your faith.   
There shall be Hell in Valhalla; the Shadows shall pull bullets to destroy the pain you feel.   
Trust no one else.”  
Each line he passed closer to where I was seated, “you saw that one didn’t you?” He pushed my long hair out off my face, “I am sorry you had to see that.”   
I grabbed his arm, before he could turn away.  
“I fell in love, with someone I had never met.”   
I leaned up and kissed Judès’ on his smooth, chilled lips, “That is why my wings are gone.”


End file.
